Ίκαρος έγερση (Icarus Rising)
by Ava Caita
Summary: Get your weekly dose of TWD here! Starts at the :31 min mark of episode 4.13. Daryl's reeling from losing Beth when he's pulled off the road by a woman who knows more than she'll tell him. Spoilers for the show and comics. (Not as graphic as the comics for rating reasons.)
1. Watcher in the Woods

**Watcher in the Woods**

Daryl knew he had a few more hours of daylight. He knew he should find somewhere safe to crash for the night, but he remained crumpled on the hot road. His body aching from running all night; his heart heavy and sore. Someone kidnapped Beth. He didn't save Hershel or any of his family, and now he sat alone and unsure if he wanted to keep going at all. He finally understood why all those other people had killed themselves. They had lost hope.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught movement. Too late to grab his crossbow — let alone aim it, but when he turned his head to look it wasn't a walker. A wolf eyed him warily from the side of the road. It paced on long lean legs, and Daryl could see its nostrils flaring to catch his scent. Wolves weren't native to Georgia, not for a long time. He flipped open the snap holding his knife. So, he hadn't reached bottom, and he wasn't going down to no damn wolf.

The wolf's head turned away from him toward a woman emerging from the forest. She had an arrow trained at Daryl's head. He slipped his knife out of its leather sheath and held it against his thigh. Rick used to have a rule: Don't kill the living. That rule got broken as soon as the Governor showed up and destroyed everything he touched. Somehow, Daryl hoped he could reinstate the rule to honor Rick's memory, but he wasn't taking any chances.

"Good boy, Loki," the woman said, lowering her old-fashioned bow and patting the wolf's giant head. "What did you find?"

Daryl held up the knife for her to see. "I'm armed."

"And I'm pretty sure I could kill you from here." She grinned, and he felt disarmed.

He took a moment to size her up. She wore military boots laced up her shins, camo pants that were clean but patched over in a dozen places — pockets jammed full, and some kind of army vest with shoulder and arm guards and a radio on her shoulder. The left side of her head above her ear was shaved, but the rest of her dark hair was braided and kept away from a face covered in green and brown paint that showed off her high cheekbones.

She looked athletically built and healthy. And she was armed to the teeth, hunting knives positioned on the vest in various places, a gun strapped to one thigh, a weird flare gun on the other thigh, and the obvious bow and arrow she kept pointed at his head.

A survivor with a good set-up. He could use a central location from which to search for Beth and any other survivors from the prison, and he wasn't against the idea of using this woman to do it.

Daryl lowered his knife. Yes, he wanted to live, if only to spend another day tracking down whoever took Beth in the Cadillac, license ending in 781, and save her like she'd saved him.

"That's better," the woman said. "I'm going to walk over to you nice and friendly like. Loki, _sitte_. _Opphold_!"

The huge wolf, Loki, sat down and yawned. The woman laid her bow down near his side. She walked toward Daryl with her arms up, palms showing. Not that it mattered, she had more weapons within reach than he ever did. He sighed and tossed his knife down near his own crossbow. He had a single bolt left, and this wasn't the time to use it. Beth said there were good people left. He hoped this woman was one of them. Her accent had city written all over it, and they were both a long way from any city.

She stepped within arm's reach and stopped, staring at him. Daryl almost laughed at the intensity of her gaze. He felt like a three-headed squirrel on display and stared down at his shoes willing himself not to blush. He never could stand people judging him, looking down on him. This woman was literally doing both.

He bored holes into the soles of his boots. They wouldn't hold together for many more miles. He'd need to scavenge replacements soon. She leaned closer and brushed his hair back from his face. The coolness of her fingers tracing across his forehead made him flinch back and glare at her. She ignored his death glare — impressive — and put a finger under his chin to turn his face. He pulled his knee closer to his chest, turned his shoulders inward.

He almost reached up a hand to slap hers away, but her wolf looked able to bound over and bite his face off without much provocation. They weren't friends.

"Daryl?" she breathed his name in shock. A shiver went down his spine as he stared her down. Her eyes were wide and confused. She knelt down beside him. "Daryl Dixon?"

"How'd you … I don't know you."

Before she answered him, Loki made a low growl in the back of his throat. Her head darted left. She didn't give Daryl a second look, as she grabbed his arm and pulled him to his feet.

"Shit. Later. We have to go. Now!"

"I ain't scared of walkers," Daryl said, stooping to retrieve his knife and crossbow. Seeing his single arrow, he wished he could take the words back. Bravery was easier with a handful of bolts. What he said was just plain reckless.

She pulled on his elbow, Loki whining and pacing between them and the forest. She dropped his elbow only to scrap her bow and arrow off the side of the road. Daryl noticed the helmet hanging off her quiver, the metal arrows interspersed with homemade wood ones. The second set of knives strapped near her kidneys. Scratch good setup, this chick had the perfect setup.

They hit the trees at a jog, Daryl's muscles screaming for rest and food and maybe a smoke. The woman moved on silent feet across the underbrush, just like his daddy had taught him when hunting skittish prey. Her hand clutched his elbow, and she never looked back.

About thirty feet in, she dropped his arm. "It's not walkers I'm scared of," she whispered, not taking her eyes off the road through the trees. She pointed. "It's them."

A group of men materialized from a heat mirage further up the road. Six of them, all carrying various weapons, passing a lighter between them. They reminded Daryl of a biker gang Merle and he had ridden with for a few months before everything went to shit.

He dropped to a knee, lifting his crossbow up to his eye. The men hadn't seen them run, but they could catch their movement in a heartbeat. The woman dropped next to Daryl, holding her bow horizontal instead of vertical. Her hand hovered over the quiver full of arrows on her back. It tickled a memory he couldn't quite recall. He shook his head and concentrated on the present. On the strong wolf smell that emanated off her. On the danger he might or might not be in. This world had no room for pansy-ass daydreamers.

"Loki, _ned_," the woman whispered. The wolf cocked his ears and lay down near her. He continued to growl, low and insistent, making the hairs at the back of Daryl's neck stand on end. "_Stille_."

She continued murmuring comfort to the wolf. Daryl never took his eyes from the group of men, but sensed her crouching low to whisper near Loki's ear. The men's shadows grew longer, daylight burned on the horizon like a warning. Before they disappeared over the hill, a crunch and moan echoed through the trees behind them.

Daryl tensed and slowly, slowly swung his crossbow around to face the sound. From the surrounding wood, five walkers shambled out. Loki sprung from the ground, shaking off the leaves that clung to his fur. The woman spun on her knee and drew two arrows on her bow, still held horizontally. The walkers gurgled and stepped closer and closer. Daryl waited, stomach taut, for her to take one down. If they got too close, it would get messy. It always got messy. The men might hear the struggle and return. Daryl or she might get bit.

He allowed himself a side-ways glance at her. She kneeled with closed eyes, breathing deeply, waiting. What the hell was she waiting for? The first of the walkers limped forward no more than fifteen feet away. He gripped his knife and readied to take the nearest one out. Held his breath until he almost saw stars, and then sucked in a quick lungful of air.

He'd psyched himself into lunging, when she opened her eyes, hazel and wild, and loosed both arrows at the same time. They hit two of the walkers with no more sound than the twang of the bowstring. Daryl whistled low under his breath. She let another arrow fly into the walker closest to them. The body thumped hard and final to the ground. She smirked at him across the downed walker. Show-off. Not to be outdone, Daryl sighted another walker and bolted the bastard clean through its eye socket. He got to his feet to retrieve the bolt or be stuck out of ammo.

"Luna, come in, Luna. Over." The speaker on her shoulder hissed and popped.

She fumbled with the radio at her belt, cursing the entire time, until she twisted the volume off.

"Hold up. I heard somethin'," one of the men said. The echo of his voice gruff and low through the trees.

Daryl stopped mid-step, fuming at his stupidity. But mostly hers. At least he had his knife, and he could run or fight. Or see what they had to offer. He didn't owe this chick nothing.

After a few whispered commands and hand gestures from the woman, Loki slunk off low, herding the other walker in the direction of the men and the road. Daryl watched the wolf nudge the walker, nearly getting caught, surprised at the way he was rooting for the animal. The woman crouched back down, keeping her eyes on the wolf. Loki flew out of the forest cover and crossed the road.

"It's a just a dog, Tony."

"Bigger 'an a dog. And that's not what I heard."

"Please, please, please." The word became a litany in her mouth.

Daryl crept to her side and slouched down. The woman laid her bow across her thighs, her fingers all crossed and bone-white from gripping the wood so tight. He took his eyes off her hands to track the walker crashing through the leaves and after the wolf.

"On yer right."

The men made short work of taking the walker down. Daryl couldn't help but be impressed. One of the men stepped away from the road edging closer to the line of trees. He nudged the nearest branches away with the barrel of his rifle.

Daryl didn't think before he grabbed the woman by the back of her neck and pushed her forward into the dirt. They faced each other, cheeks pressed against rotting leaves, her eyes shooting murder, but he moved his hand off her neck and pressed a finger to his lips. She blinked once, twice, and gritted her teeth.

"Stop being so damned paranoid, Len." A chuckle rose up from the group.

"Don't feel right," Len said, not moving away from the tree line.

Daryl clutched his knife again. The woman removed her handgun, held it close to her vest. The rustle of leaves told them both the man had entered the brush. He might spot them, but he might not. He would definitely spot the dead walkers with brightly colored arrows sticking out of their heads if he lingered long enough.

"We need to find shelter, dummy, not chase "feelin's" off into the woods." Another round of laughter.

Daryl breathed through his mouth, willing his heartbeat to stop racing past his ears so he could hear better. His breath made a stray hair flutter against her cheek. Felt her breath against his mouth and goatee. Close and intimate. They were _not_ friends. So why had he chosen her side so easily? Why did she know his name? And why did those wild eyes of hers remind him of things best forgotten?

He didn't dare move his head or his hand, which cramped the longer he held the knife at such an awkward angle. Her lips formed the word "Please," though no sound escaped them. He no longer knew if she were begging for Loki or for herself, as she stared through him with her eyes of emerald fire ringed with honey.

o . O . o

**A/N: **Like it? Review it! Tell a friend! This story will be an amalgamation of events from both the comics and the AMC show. It's not Daryl-only, so expect Rick and the gang to show up in later chapters. New chapters will be posted on Sundays — mostly.


	2. Tomorrow Will Be Kinder

**Tomorrow Will Be Kinder**

As quickly as they appeared, the men retreated up the road. Their shadows elongating behind them as they chased the setting sun. Daryl breathed a heavy sigh of relief. He returned his knife back to its sheath and clenched and unclenched his stiff fingers. The snap of blood felt good. Real good.

The woman whistled high and shrill: a Kentucky Warbler. The same call his uncle Jesse taught him and Merle to use while hunting. He opened his mouth to ask who she thought she was when Loki loped over, slinking around the bodies and back to his mistress's side. She buried her face in his ruff. Loki licked her ear once and sat down to be coddled. Spoiled wolf.

Her right hand never stopped petting Loki's thick fur as she used her left to turn the radio back on.

"Go for Luna."

Daryl wracked his brain for someone he knew named Luna. It probably wasn't her real name seeing how she ran with a wolf. So he memorized her features and ran them against the people he knew, the tiny handful of them. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

A deep voice crackled through the mic, "Where the hell have you been, Luna? I've been hailing you for twenty goddamn minutes. Don't keep doing that to me! Over."

Luna's eyes went wide with embarrassment, and Daryl enjoyed watching her squirm and duck away. _Not so smug now._ All those weapons, yet she seemed cowed by the voice squawking from her shoulder.

"Chill out, Parker. I tracked those men to an access road along the tracks. They were too close to play telephone with your loud ass."

"Roger that." Luna cringed and turned the volume down. "Me and the buggy'll be there to extract you in thirty. Think you can stay alive until then? Over."

Luna wiped the back of her wrist across her forehead. She clicked the radio to respond, "I've made it this far without you. I'm pretty sure half an hour won't make a difference. Are you picking up my signal?"

Signal? Daryl needed answers and fast. He guessed he had time to get them before her partner showed up. And then what?

"Roger that. Signal's strong and steady. See you soon. Over."

"Oh, and Parker?"

"Yes? Over."

"Stop saying _over_ and _Roger_. You sound like such a tool." Luna paused, holding the button down, steeling up her … nerve? "And make room for a stray. Picked him up on the road."

"Luna," the edge in Parker's voice cut straight to the point.

"I'm no stray," Daryl growled. "I've got it from here." He flipped his crossbow onto his shoulder and strode past her, too proud to wince when the metal smacked his collarbone.

Luna turned her radio off and followed him. "What you've got, Daryl, is one bolt," she eyed it, "heavily used, no water, no shelter, and no one to watch your back. I'll handle Parker. Just follow my lead."

"That's another thing," he said, not slowing down, "how the hell do you know my name?"

"If I said it was written on the back of your vest, would you believe me?"

Daryl stopped walking to turn his head and look — just for effect. "Naw, I wouldn't."

She handed him a handful of arrows and changed the subject. "Use these until we find or make some for your crossbow. Be careful though, I don't want you shooting out your eye. Maybe you should wear my helmet."

He gave it a cursory glance, then said, "Hell no, I'm not wearing that thing."

She laughed, but he didn't — still feeling out the situation. They walked down the middle of the road, heading in the opposite direction of the men. Loki pranced on his long legs ahead of them, sniffing the wild grass and marking his territory.

Daryl tapped one of the arrows against his leg. The steady beat of the metal arrowhead against his knee was somehow comforting in the gathering twilight.

"So," he started and stopped unable to find the thread of conversation. _Smooth, Daryl. Columbo'd be mystified by your detective skills._

"So." She didn't offer any help. One of her hands played with her gun holster. Snap. Snap. Snap. The buzz of cicadas filled the silence between the sets of three. Snap. Snap. Snap. The leaves crunched beneath their boots. Snap. Snap.

He anticipated the third one. When it didn't snap, he stopped walking and stared at the wolf. Luna hovered beside him like his own 3D shadow. Repetition and instinct took over.

"How many walkers have you killed?"

"Hundreds, I reckon." She didn't say it to brag; he knew by the way she dropped her eyes to her boots.

"How many people you've killed?"

Her eyes rounded on him, and she crossed her arms. "I can still count them on my fingers. You?"

"No one who didn't deserve it, but I didn't keep count," Daryl said. And it was the truest thing he'd told her. He skipped the why question. It would only lead her to ask in kind, and he didn't want to talk about the prison. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

She didn't press him for details. "Ain't nobody's hands clean no more."

"Why're you following them guys?"

Luna squinted up at him, and raised a hand to shield her face from the sun's last hoorah. He caught a look of uncertainty in her eyes, but it wasn't enough to kill his curiosity, or make him take back the question. Knowing what he'd gotten himself into would mean the difference between life and death. And he was firmly on the side of life, but he didn't want to be alone. Right before Andrea died, she said, "No one can make it alone now." She was right.

"They killed a member of our group a few days ago. Thought Tommy was alone roaming the woods. An easy target. While me and Parker were scrounging for diesel, they stole his gun and ammo. Put a bullet in his skull. They even stole his jacket. Dumb asses don't know there's a tracker sewed into the collar." Luna waited, but Daryl kept quiet. "At night, I get close enough to listen to their conversations. They're evil, evil men.

"Parker and I are going to wipe them off the planet. Since I started trailing them, they've left a path of dead and broken people in their wake. Beat and raped a woman so bad that I had to put her down before she bled to death and came back. She was more terrified of turning and hurting people than dying. I forgot to ask her name."

Luna shook her head and wiped a palm across her cheek, rubbing away a streak of paint. Almost as if erasing tears that she'd shed days ago.

"They broke into a house. The man hiding inside escaped by killing one of their gang and leaving him to turn reCor while they slept."

"Wrecker?"

"Short for reanimated corpse: reCor. I heard you call 'em walkers. Same thing. All us survivors have a name for them. Biters, corpses, meat suits, roamers, etc." She ticked each name off on a finger.

"Geeks," Daryl added.

A look of disgust and hatred passed over her features. Daryl wasn't sure whom it was for. "None of them died though. They're following the guy. They call it a reckoning. And what about Tommy's or that poor woman's reckoning?"

A group of six men with that many weapons would be hard for two people to ambush. Daryl wondered if he wanted to be involved in another violent exchange, however justified Luna laid it out to be, because there were always two sides to everything. Had to be, or he was still just a drifter. Lost and separated from his family.

"I'm gonna kill 'em all."

Daryl noticed that her accent had changed, dropped into longer vowels the angrier she became. Luna waved for Loki, who trotted obediently to her side. She rubbed his massive head, scratching behind his ears. Loki's tongue lolled, pink and wet. He got up off his haunches and circled Daryl, sniffed his pants and his hands. Daryl stayed perfectly still. Loki leaned his body against Daryl's leg, his furry shoulder meeting Daryl's hip. The wolf glanced up at him before ambling off again.

Luna nodded, as if expecting Loki to accept Daryl. "You don't need to help or nothing, but I'm happy to get you somewhere safe. If you want? I know trusting people is a historical occurrence, so I won't hold it against you if you don't trust me."

Daryl almost let it slip that he had people out here that he already trusted. People he wanted to find. Almost told her about Beth. Luna might understand, might even help him. But he stuffed down the thought with all his other feelings that weren't helping him survive in the present. Beth was gone.

"Is there such a thing as safe anymore?"

"Course there is." Luna gave him an almost malicious smirk, the rumble of an engine thundered down the road. "The cavalry has arrived!"

No wonder they'd left the "buggy" behind. Approaching at a low speed was a hulking military Humvee painted with the same greens and blacks as Luna's face. An enormous gun sat on the roof, along with glinting solar panels. _Who were these people, and where did they get all their toys?_ Anything that big and loud was bound to attract all the wrong attention. And just as the thought rattled through Daryl's head, he saw groups of walkers' heads and limbs popping out of the forest to jerk and sway toward the vehicle.

"Suppertime, Loki!" Luna sprinted down the road on the balls of her feet, Loki snarled and kept two paces ahead of her. She held her bow ready, an arrow nocked, and a gleam of sheer madness in her eyes.

Daryl jogged behind her, giving her wildness room to burn out. He lugged the heavy crossbow off his shoulder and fitted one of her arrows behind the taut string. He sighted a walker and put his finger on the trigger, but the body dropped before he pulled. Bodies fell with wet thunks as fast as they lurched from behind the trees. The vehicle's engine cut out. A tall, muscular black man, garbed in military gear like Luna, swung down from the driver's seat. He fired two guns with long silencers in quick succession.

"My hero," Daryl deadpanned.

Loki, true to his nature, wolfed down huge gobbets of walker meat. Daryl's stomach heaved. Loki was a man-eater, and he wouldn't be able to sleep anywhere near the canine.

The hiss of an arrow passing close beside his ear forced Daryl to spin around. Within arm's reach dropped a walker, an arrow sticking out of her eye socket. _Way too close._ _Focus, Dixon! _He turned back around to see Luna mime a curtsy before nocking another arrow and aiming at another walker. His debt to her was growing, and he didn't like it one bit.

In short time, a herd of at least fifty walkers were dead — proper dead — all around them. Luna had already pulled the arrows from the bodies and wiped them off. Daryl picked his way to the vehicle, trying to ignore the manic sounds of Loki tearing long chunks of meat off human bones.

Parker and Luna stood close with their heads bowed. Daryl knew they were talking about him and lowered his chin, shoved his hands deep into his pockets, tried to make himself a smaller target. Parker hugged Luna, and she nearly disappeared in his hulking embrace. Daryl thought about turning on his heel and fading back into the forest, when Parker approached.

"I'm Abel, Abel Parker," he introduced himself, extending a hand. His goatee was shot through with silver. "Everyone just calls me 'Parker'."

It had been a long time since someone wanted to shake Daryl's hand. Maybe since Patrick from the prison? Or was that Zach? Too many dead kids' names weighed on his conscience.

He shook Parker's hand, firm and quick. "Daryl."

"Luna vouched for you. Said she filled you in on our mission. You're cool with that?"

It felt like a test. "I don't know, but it's not my place to judge you. Or, I guess, the mission."

"I respect that," said Parker.

Over Parker's massive shoulder, Daryl watched Luna climb up onto the Humvee's front wheel. She whistled her imitation Kentucky Warbler, and Loki shot to her like a grey-fletched arrow. She poured a bottle of water over his muzzle and scrubbed at it with a stained cloth. Loki backed away and shook himself off. Water flicked everywhere, as Luna laughed and held out her hands to stop the droplets from hitting her face.

"How's Loki able to eat walkers?"

Parker glanced at the wolf and quickly turned away. "We don't know. Saves us having to make wolf kibble though. And it means more rabbit and deer meat for us."

Luna opened a door, and Loki bounded inside. She hopped into the passenger seat and shouted, "Shotgun!" before slamming the door.

"Well," said Parker, "let's go."

Daryl followed him to the driver's side. A single door greeted him from that side. Small windows, wide enough for guns or crossbows to fire through, ran the length of the side panel. He waited, unsure if he should climb into the driver's side or be let in.

Parker put a hand on the door handle, his huge frame blocking Daryl's way. Parker said, "Sorry, man, but … ."

Daryl's stomach dropped into his feet. This was it. They were parting ways; he was on his own. Again. He screwed up his courage to be polite about it. These people owed him nothing. In fact, he owed them for saving his ass. Twice. Daryl rationalized what he would do if he found someone like him on the road.

A deep belly laugh rumbled out of Parker. He bowled over and slapped his hands on his knees. "You should see your face! Like an angry kicked puppy. No wonder Luna said to trust you. Wear your emotions like masks." He continued to laugh, as Daryl felt the heat of embarrassment on the back of his neck, the rumble of anger bubble up the back of his throat.

Luna stuck her head out the open window. "Don't let Parker bully you. He thinks he's hilarious. The door to the backseat's on my side.

The clap of Parker's hand on Daryl's shoulder grounded him in place. The bigger man's laughs had settled into snickers. "Just playing with you, man. No hard feelings?"

"Naw," Daryl said, a slight smile on his lips more out of relief than forgiveness. He rounded the front of the Humvee and opened the back door. Loki sprawled across the backseat, leaving no room to sit.

Daryl climbed up and slammed the door behind him. The huge wolf didn't even bat an eyelid. Inside was stocked with red gas containers, water jugs, boxes, and another long seat behind the first. Daryl settled into the jumper seat behind the driver. Luna leaned an elbow over her own seat. A metal cage separated him and Loki from Parker and Luna.

"Don't be scared of Loki," Luna said. Somehow she'd picked up on Daryl's hesitation. The wolf cocked his head at the sound of his name. "Sit next to him. It'll be more comfortable. The seat you're in has a broken spring and in about a mile you'll have a rusty hole through your butt cheek."

"And we don't have any tetanus shots in the buggy," Parker added, the rumble of the engine coming alive under his touch.

Daryl focused on Loki's dark eyes, watching him, when he got up. He didn't know if he should turn and offer his ass to the wolf to take a piece out of, or keep his eye on him and lose a chunk of his thigh. He also didn't know if he should sit near Loki's head or backend. The sudden movement of the Humvee took the decision from him. He toppled into the space between Loki's head and the door hinge.

Loki's tail wagged a few times, and Luna cooed, "_Hva__en pen__gutt_," from the front seat. The wolf's huge head dropped onto Daryl's lap, and then he sighed and closed his eyes.

"He likes you," Luna said.

"I always wanted a dog," answered Daryl.

He held his hand above Loki's neck, wanting to pet him, but also rather attached to his limb. Daryl glanced at Luna, who gave him an encouraging smile, and then ran his fingers through the wolf's thick ruff. Loki nuzzled his head against Daryl's thigh, so he continued to stroke his fur.

Luna whispered, "I remember," but Daryl heard her all the same.

o . O . o

**A/N: **Like it? Review it! Thanks for the follows! Thanks for reading! Hmm, that's a lot of exclamation points for one paragraph. #sorrynotsorry New chapters will be posted on Sundays — mostly.


	3. Safe & Sound

**Safe & Sound**

Daryl remembered listening to Parker and Luna argue over where they should park for the night, and what route might be the best to take in the morning, and who smelled worse (Loki, hands down). He remembered Luna throwing a map at Parker's head and calling him an idiot. What he didn't remember was when he'd fallen asleep, or how he'd sprawled across Loki's seat, or who covered him with a blanket, or how he'd lost his boots.

_Shit_.

He'd slept so deep, pinning his arm beneath him, that now the sharp stab of pins and needles raced from shoulder to fingers and back. The limb was still so numb he couldn't even make a fist without a grunt of pain. Forget hefting his crossbow. _Pussy_.

He sat up and tossed the blanket to the floor. The inside of the Humvee felt cramped and too hot to breathe. Parker's heavy snores from the front seat rattled the glass windows. Loki and Luna were nowhere in sight, but it was blacker than black inside, so he couldn't be sure they weren't in the seat behind him. Something covered the windshield and the two side windows. Faint starlight pierced the sliver of windows on his side of the divider, and he waited for his eyes to adjust. He cursed the darkness a new moon brought with it.

Daryl's stomach growled, and his mouth was parched and gummy. He swung his socked feet to the metal floor and felt around in the dark for his boots. His hand found his crossbow, half-covered by the discarded blanket. Then he found a bottle of water. Grateful, he drank until he'd emptied it. It took another sweep of the floor and the jumper seats before he located his boots.

Parker snored on like a grizzly bear. Without a visual first, Daryl didn't think going outside would be an award-winning idea. He was pretty sure walkers in Tennessee could hear Parker snoring and were on their way to surround the vehicle.

His stomach pinched and gurgled from drinking too much water too fast. He leaned back against the seat, listening to the liquid slosh around in his otherwise empty gut. He willed himself to lean over, ignore the pain, and lace up his boots. It might be the middle of the night, but he needed to stretch his limbs and get some food.

Before he had a chance to grab his crossbow, the backdoor wrenched open, and Loki flew into the space in front of him. The smell of wolf and midnight followed before Luna climbed in and slammed the door behind her, adding wet earth and sweat. It dripped off her nose and ran down her bare arms. The face paint and all her gear were gone, but she had a knife attached to her belt, a gun strapped to one thigh, and her bow and quiver.

"Ain't you worried about walkers?" Daryl whispered at her. "Where's your vest, helmet, and all that other crap?"

Luna clicked on the light above them. She looked him up and down. "Where's your supplies and extra bolts?"

He shouldn't have said anything, but he was learning how good she was at answering questions with more questions.

Kicking up a boot, she clamored over his seat and the one behind it before rummaging through a box. "Here," she said — not whispering — tossing him a large, heavy, pink pouch. "It's an HDR. You missed supper."

She stowed her quiver and bow in the mesh above the gas tanks. Hopping back onto the seat behind Daryl, she tore open her own pink pouch with her teeth and dumped the contents onto the seat beside her. She organized the smaller packets on her lap, making room for Daryl next to her.

"Better eat that back here. Loki will steal your food right under your nose. He lives for the peanut butter and crackers."

Daryl eyed Loki, who was staring at the pouch in his hand like it was the last food on the planet. He gave the wolf a quick pat on the head then climbed over the seat. Once vacated, Loki hopped up and continued to watch their hands.

"Loki," Luna admonished. "_Ned! Opphold!"_

The wolf dropped down to his stomach. He peeked his head over the back of the seat. Luna covered her mouth with a hand to keep him from seeing her grin. She composed herself and dropped her hand, frowning at him. "Loki!" The head disappeared and a huge sigh followed.

"What're you saying to him?"

"Dog stuff," Luna said. "But he's a wolf, and everyone knows they only speak Norwegian. So I learned Norwegian."

He heard the teasing in her voice. It made him feel like she was letting him in on a secret. He didn't know what that meant, so Daryl tore the top off his pouch. He pulled the contents out one packet at a time. Two mains: lentil stew and beans with potatoes, crackers, peanut butter, strawberry jam, shortbread, a fig bar, a fruit pastry, and a larger packet with a bunch of things stuffed inside.

He side-eyed Luna through pieces of his hair for guidance, watching her open the bigger packet and pulling out a wet wipe. She wiped her hands and face, the cloth turned gray. Then she retrieved a plastic spoon and dug into the larger mains with relish. A hearty smell of spices filled the truck. Her boots were propped up on the seat in front of her, and she shoveled food in her mouth, barely stopping to chew it. She'd finished the first dish before Daryl unwrapped his spoon.

"Tastes better heated," she said around a mouthful of rice, "but I'm too hungry to wait. Plus, it's a furnace in here."

The food tasted better than canned beans — even room temperature, but nothing as good as the prison food. No complaints though, he hadn't had fruit pastries since before. And he'd never had a fig bar. Sweetness warred with savory on his taste buds. He fought off the urge to sigh with delight. Luna handed him another bottle of water. She dumped all her empty packets into the largest pouch and climbed back over the seat. Daryl hadn't even finished his lentil stew.

He leaned forward to eye the wolf. "Seems your master's part wolf." Loki turned his ears at the sound but otherwise didn't stir.

The whirl of a machine flicked on, and a breeze hit the back of Daryl's neck. He took off his leather vest, the air hitting the spots of sweat on his shirt.

"I can't believe Parker didn't turn the fans on," Luna complained, holding her hair up with one hand. "It's a million degrees in here."

Now that air circulated through the cabin, Daryl looked up to catch the row of fans interspersed along the ceiling. "How the hell?"

"Solar panels." Luna pulled her soaking shirt away from her chest a few times. She cranked a handle and the glass in the window panels rolled down, letting in the cooler night air.

Daryl returned his eyes to his food and continued eating. He hadn't had a real meal in far too long. Even the meager offerings of the house near the cemetery hadn't filled him up. But starvation had heightened some of his senses. Smell, for one. Now that he'd stuffed himself, he didn't notice the heaviness of the air as much nor Loki's muskiness.

Luna's voice pulled him from his thoughts. "Went on a little recon to the marauder's camp. It's five miles from here. I thought about slipping past their guard. He was passed out against a tree. Thought about slitting his throat and leaving him to turn."

"And did you?" Daryl didn't look at her, just stuffed his own empty packets back into the largest one. She leaned over and plucked it from his hands. He raised his head to complain. He didn't need a babysitter.

She dumped the pouch into a larger box. "No, but I did slip a tracker into the guard's pocket" she said, not turning around. "I want 'em to know who's killing them. Want 'em to feel the fear of being hunted."

Her shoulders shrugged, but then she held her head up again, as if talking about murder didn't bother her. Luna fiddled with the gun holster hanging against her leg. Then she climbed up onto the back of the seat and opened a hatch in the ceiling. Using the shelf and the open window along the vehicle's side, she climbed out to the roof.

"Grab yer crossbow and c'mon," she said. "It's absolutely gorgeous out tonight."

The night was noisy with insects and night birds. Most of the frogs started hibernating weeks ago. Parker's racket could be heard outside of the Humvee — rhythmic and alive. Daryl wouldn't ever mistake any of it for being gorgeous. They had completely opposite definitions of that word. Gorgeous was a world empty of walkers. A world where walkers never existed. Gorgeous was an open road. The rumble of a bike under him. His uncle Jesse alive. Merle alive. He might've been an asshole redneck, but Merle had been _his_ asshole redneck older brother.

Daryl raised his crossbow to eye level just for the opportunity it afforded him to wipe off the tear on his cheek. Luna might mistake him for being sentimental. In reality, he was exhausted from losing people he cared about. The night air cooled the sweat on his shirt, and he shivered a little. Merle would tell him to man up, find his nut sack. He missed Merle's relentless taunts most of all because every time he insulted him, he'd meant, "Ain't no one but me gonna care about you, little brother." And for a long time, Merle was right.

Luna pulled a crumpled piece of paper from one of her many pockets and handed it to him. "I heard them talking about a place called Terminus. Found this along the tracks. That's where that man's headed. Terminus translates to "border" in Latin. Maybe they're a trading station."

Daryl read: "Those who arrive survive." There was a map with blackened roads and a star in the center. If these maps were out there, maybe other prison survivors had found them. Maybe they were making their way toward Terminus as well. And that was the problem with hope: it looked like the light at the end of the tunnel, but nine times out of ten, it was actually the train's headlight barreling down the tracks.

In the distance, a storm rumbled and crackled across the sky. With luck it would rain, and any traces of Luna's nighttime ramblings would wash away. Daryl didn't want to imagine what might happen if any of those men followed her back here.

"Check it out," Luna handed him binoculars attached to headgear, wet with sweat, "night vision."

The grainy green view revealed a handful of walkers slogging through the forest. Their eyes shone like a cat's caught in the headlights. Mouths hung agape, feet never stopped shuffling toward a sound that died long ago. The Humvee was parked on the high point in a meadow; the trees and walkers surrounded them on every side. Somehow he didn't feel threatened. _Dangerous assumption_. Daryl swept the tree line in a full 360. He didn't spot anyone living. Only the remains of the living.

He handed the goggles back to Luna. "I'll be right back. Gotta take a piss."

"There're rungs along the back." Luna removed her gun from its holster. She fitted the binoculars to her eyes and scanned around them. "I've got you covered."

Before Daryl turned his back on the wilderness to climb down, he checked the vehicle's perimeter. No walkers stretched their rotting arms up to grab him. He strapped his bow across his back, climbed down, and made quick work of dropping trou. When he climbed back up, Luna handed him the binoculars.

"Cover me."

And in those two words, he knew she trusted him. Trust would always be a foreign concept, and while he vowed not to break hers when it was so freely given, he still wanted to know why the hell she trusted him. This world wasn't made for trust. Daryl imagined a million ways to start that conversation, but when she returned he couldn't find one word to start it.

"Thanks." She took the binoculars back again. "If you need to sleep, or whatever, it's my watch. There's a lever under the seat to make a bed. Might be more comfortable."

"Don't you need to sleep?" He eyed her warily. She'd returned in the middle of the night from a ten-mile run through starlit, walker-filled woods. Sweat glistened off her shoulders and neck, along the shaved part of her head. He'd be dead on his feet.

"Nah." She continued to scan the night. "I've never been very good at sleeping, even before the reCors. I'll wake Parker for his watch and catch some rack later."

"I can take his watch."

"Maybe tomorrow night." She paused in her sweep. "We'll work you into the schedule. Parker will appreciate all the extra snores we give him."

Daryl climbed back inside, which was considerably cooler with the fans blowing and the window slots open. Luna popped her head down through the roof, her long braid hanging down like a noose. Daryl shuddered at the image.

"Need help?"

Loki's snores filled in the gaps between Parker's, as Daryl settled down on the backseat. He shook his head and found the lever and yanked it up. The seat slid into a foldout bed. _Nice_.

"G'night, Daryl."

"Uh, night." Daryl stifled a yawn.

He placed his crossbow on the floor, propped up within arm's reach. From above, the sound of singing fluttered down. He strained to catch the words. They sounded a lot like Wu-Tang's _Bring Da Buckus _— one of Glenn's favorites — but sung like an indie folk. Daryl couldn't stop the corner of his mouth from turning up.

Luna's voice —rough edges, warbling notes, and so many f-bombs — lacked the sweetness of Beth's. His chest ached at the constant reminders of all he'd lost. He didn't think he'd be able to sleep again, his heart and mind racing. The thought had barely formed when he fell asleep to Luna's strange lullaby.

o . O . o

**A/N: **Like it? Leave a review! Thanks for the follows & review! For an entertaining thing of beauty, go to YouTube and put in "Wu-Tang My Little Pony". You're welcome. New chapters will be posted on Sundays — mostly.


	4. Rule One: Stay Alive

**Rule One: Stay Alive**

Luna and Parker had been arguing on the roof above him for an hour. Daryl reached for his crossbow for something to do. Dawn's soft light fell through the windows as the fans continued whirling. Their shouts were punctuated by long pauses filled with the twang of a bowstring or the muffled pop of Parker's pistols. He stood to check through the slats as another group of walkers crumpled.

Daryl rubbed the sleep from his eyes, almost wishing he could curl up again. He wouldn't admit all this snoozing was because he was mourning. He _wouldn't_. Merle'd tell him he was a bitch for mourning anyone not blood. Merle didn't know what the hell he was talking about most of the time.

Loki sat in the seat in front of him, huge paws on the backrest, neck craning upward. He looked up at the open hatch in the roof and whined. Daryl cleaned off a couple of his arrows on a red rag, trying to shut out their squabble. The voices carried down to him, and he felt uncomfortable — forced to listen to a conversation he wanted no part of.

"Luna, you have to stop sneaking off at night." Parker's voice boomed. He had no qualms about attracting the wrong kind of attention.

_Must not've seen any real trouble until now_, Daryl thought and scoffed.

"I take weapons and my goggles. I'm not stupid."

"What's your daddy gonna say when I return without Tommy _and_ you?"

"But you're not my daddy! You don't get to tell me what to do. I'm on point for this lil' excursion of ours." The clomp of boots made the row of fans shake. "And I wasn't alone. I took Loki."

"That wolf can't stop a bullet, and you know it."

"Oh, and you can, Parker? Praise Jesus! I didn't know I was travellin' with mother lovin' Superman!"

One set of boots paced above in a tight circle. Daryl turned his attention to cleaning the specks of dirt and he didn't want to know what off his crossbow. He spit onto the rag and raked it across the front of the crossbow. Parker and Luna didn't quit bickering.

"That's not fair. I'm trying to keep us alive until we have a better plan than picking them off one by one at night. Which is a dumbass plan." Parker's shadow passed above. Daryl ducked back down to remain ignored. "Keep circling them, and eventually they'll realize what's happening. They won't fall asleep during watch. They _will_ catch you. Don't you remember what they did to the last lady they caught?"

The pacing stopped. "Talk about unfair. Of course I remember! I see her every time I close my eyes. Watch my hand put the gun under her chin. Scream at myself as I pull the trigger. Feel her shudder beneath my touch."

Boots scraped on metal. Parker must've tried to apologize or hug her because Luna growled, "I'm not ready to forgive you yet." Loki howled, the sound echoing harshly inside the Humvee. Daryl clapped his hands over his ears. Loki stopped mid-howl and shook his head before he leaped over the seat and onto Daryl's makeshift bed. One paw caught him in the gut. The wolf ignored his sharp exhale of air, so intent was he on getting up to the roof. Daryl tried soothing words like he'd used with Judith. Loki ignored him.

_Probably because I ain't speaking Norwegian_.

Boots, legs, hips, and then all of Luna climbed down. Her face was blotchy red, her eyes shooting murder. She sat with her back to Daryl and buried a hand in Loki's fur, running her fingers through his coat. Loki whined.

"I agree," she said to the wolf. "He's infuriating."

Daryl'd never been good at comforting other people. Shit, he barely managed to keep himself from falling apart sometimes. He sat like an idiot with his crossbow across his lap, not moving or saying a damn thing.

Luna stood abruptly and leaped over one seat, and then the next. Her boots almost clipped Daryl in the head. Loki followed closely at her heels. He noticed that she was kitted out in all her army gear again. Maybe she wore it for Parker's sake.

"Wait!" Daryl held out a hand, palm up, to stop her. He blurted, "The hell you going?"

"I don't need a chaperone, Darlena," she said through clenched teeth. She held the door open for her wolf, but slammed it in Daryl's face.

He was sick and tired of her covert shit, knowing more than she was saying pissed him off. He grabbed a handful of bolts and swung one leg over the seat between him and the door.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Parker said from above him. "She's as likely to stick an arrow in your eye as listen while you talk some sense into her."

Daryl stared at the closed door. "I ain't got no sense," he mumbled. "Where's she goin' anyway?"

"Probably heading toward a sporting good store we planned to check out today. It's a good ten-mile trek. Her anger should burn out by the time she gets there."

"You're worried about her running off at night, but you got no problem with her doing the same thing during the day? 'Sides, she hasn't slept. Tired's stupid."

Parker stood up, his response lost to the trees and the dead. Daryl waited for him to repeat whatever he said, but the older man remained silent on the roof.

"Hey," Parker returned to the hatch, "grab a couple of those rations and come up here."

Daryl shouldered his crossbow, picked through the box of rations, and climbed to the roof. Parker had his back to him, watching Luna yank arrows from splayed walkers; Loki sniffed around and marked his territory. Aside from the tension, the morning felt peaceful.

"Thanks," Parker said when Daryl handed him a ration bag. He sat down with his legs hanging off the edge and dug in. "These things are barely edible. They're about to expire, so we got stuck with them. Waste not, want not, am I right?"

Daryl sat down, keeping his legs tucked under him on the metal roof. He'd had nightmares as a kid about being grabbed from below. And that was long before the dead came back. At least now he had that excuse if anyone tried to make fun of him.

They ate in silence, each keeping an eye on Luna as she hacked at a walker who was down but not dead. She wiped her machete on the corpse's clothes and moved to the next one. After picking through the bodies, she ran into the trees, Loki loping beside her. Daryl noted that she didn't glance back at them even once.

"We'll give her a little head start, and then follow," said Parker, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. "Can't keep that girl safe from herself."

Daryl didn't think before he blurted, "Being a girl's got nothing to do with it."

"Is that right?"

"In my last group," — Daryl couldn't believe he was sharing, but he felt like sticking up for Luna, for all the women left — "we had a lady who went scavenging by herself all the time."

"And you never worried she wouldn't come back."

Michonne always returned. Daryl imagined what would happen to his arms if he tried telling her what to do. He thought she was the bravest of them all. Did that make her the stupidest? "Nah. I worried all the time, but she made it this far."

Daryl nearly choked on his peas in tomato sauce when Parker asked, "If she made it, where is she now?"

"We got separated. Don't mean she's dead." It was the truth. Not all of it, but Daryl wasn't ready to spill his guts to a man he hardly knew.

Parker stood up, stuffed all his empty packets into the larger pouch, and threw it in a fade-away jump shot toward the open hatch. It sailed wide of its mark.

"Always have a back-up spot to reorganize. It's one of our five rules of survival."

"Y'all got rules?" Rules meant stability and order. It meant a system, and Rick said they could trust people who had a logical system.

"Rule One: Stay alive," Parker laughed, walking to retrieve his trash. He chucked it through the open hatch, raising his hands in a mock cheer. "Rule Two: Don't be a hero if it means breaking Rule One. Luna has a distinct problem with that one."

Daryl managed a small smile. He knew a few people — Michonne included — who would have a problem with that rule. If they were alive, and that was a big if. _Dammit, Beth. There I go, hoping again. Hope don't magically bring people back from the dead. Never helped Sophia. Hope don't help me find you._ He lost his appetite and dropped his spoon into the unfinished portion.

Parker's voice brought him out of his head. "Rule Three: Be prepared. Have a back-up plan when things get cocked up. Then have a back-up for the back-up for the back-up because things always get cocked up. Rule Four: Take care of yourself and others because without others you might as well be dead."

Daryl waited for the fifth one. When Parker didn't say anything more, he pressed, "And number five?"

"Never can remember all five," Parker admitted. He climbed down off the roof and headed for the driver's side. He shouted up to Daryl before climbing in. "We do have a rule about riding around in the buggy. Shotgun's in charge of cranking the electricity. Tracker signal doesn't work on solar power."

Daryl hopped down off the roof on the passenger side. It was a little strange how easily he'd been accepted into this new group. Sure, people needed people to survive now more than ever, but he knew people were still people. They fought over scraps like dogs. They marked their territory. Everything wasn't sunshine and roses. He guessed that however Luna knew him was accounting for some of that acceptance, and for that, he was grateful.

Parker started the engine before Daryl climbed up to the passenger seat. He positioned his crossbow at his feet and slammed the door. Parker handed him a plastic box with a small hand crank connected by a jury-rigged wire to what looked like a handheld game console.

"Battery's real low," Parker pushed on the power button a few times. The screen flickered to life and went black. "Means you'll have to crank for a few minutes before it'll even turn on. Twist it clockwise. I'll drive toward the store. Let's hope it hasn't been ransacked like ninety percent of the stores between here and north Atlanta."

"Is that where y'all are from?" If Luna refused to tell him anything, he could try to pry it from Parker in a just-making-conversation way.

Parker didn't take the bait. "I'm from Raleigh, originally. Got an IT job in Atlanta a few years before things went to hell. Thought the economy was finally taking a turn for the better. Bet my 401k don't mean shit anymore."

"Do you know Luna from Atlanta?" Daryl turned the crank around and around, annoyed at how much pressure he exerted to turn one stupidly small piece of plastic.

The buggy jostled them both as Parker steered it off the dirt and grass and back onto a paved road. Nothing stirred in front of them. Daryl dipped a little to check the side mirror. Nothing wandered into the road behind them either. Most of the walkers in the area were probably laying double dead in the meadow they'd left behind. The less walkers wandering about the better, as far as Daryl was concerned. He figured anyone alive and on foot wouldn't mind either.

"After the fevers hit, after the dead started rising, after I thought I wouldn't live another day," Parker's voice lowered, a thing Daryl didn't think it was capable of. If he weren't talking about something so serious, Daryl might have laughed at him for being melodramatic. "After I considered putting a gun in my mouth, Luna and a few others swept my neighborhood for survivors. Found me and brought me back to the compound."

"Compound?"

Parker didn't give him any more information. _Smart_. It's not like they ever advertised the prison. They were always so wary about who they told and who they brought back with them. It took Rick until after Woodbury to take anyone in, and even then they were relegated to D-block. The people they did pick up had to answer their three questions or be left on whatever road, in whatever shape they were in.

Daryl continued to wheel the gray crank around and around. Parker pressed the button on the console again, not taking his eyes off the road. The screen flickered to life with green gridlines on a black background. Parker raised the screen to his face, and then pulled over to the side of the road. He pressed a few keys and spots of red joined the green lines.

"Not again." Parker banged the console against the seat. The screen remained bright and unchanging. He clicked a series of buttons, almost like Morse code and the screen zoomed in on two tiny red dots. "Why's there … ?"

Stopping the crank, Daryl leaned over to get a better look. At what, he wasn't sure, but it bothered Parker enough to investigate. He was curious. The screen flickered and went out.

"Keep cranking," Parker barked. "If this means what I think it means, Luna's a damn fool."

"What does what mean?" Daryl increased the speed on the rotations, as if that would bring him answers faster.

Parker waited at least two minutes before trying the power button again. The screen brightened at his touch. He went through a series of clicks, zooming in and out from the two clustered dots. Another set of dots, spaced much farther apart showed when he zoomed out.

"It appears that Luna did more than find those men's camp last night." Parker slammed his palm hard against the steering wheel. "She's planted another tracker on one of them."

Daryl frowned. "Isn't that a good thing?"

"No." Parker dropped the console on the faux leather between them. "It means she had to be within arm's reach to plant it. She's being stupid, and stupid gets you dead."

"It's not exactly stupid." Daryl flinched a little as Parker's head swiveled to glare at him. "What if the first tracker breaks? Or gets left behind? Or they find it? Or they split up?"

"Lots of things could happen. Doesn't mean she should risk her life to avoid all possibilities," Parker said, running the heels of his hands down his face. He poked a thick finger at the dots on the right side of the screen. "At least we know she's here, and she's moving at a pretty pace in the opposite direction."

"Wasn't Rule Three: Be Prepared? You said to have back-ups to the back-ups." Daryl switched hands and cranked more slowly with his left. "Want me to say something to her?"

"As if she'd listen." Parker started the engine again. His foot heavy on the gas pedal.

Daryl sat back, moved his right hand slowly to grab the shoulder strap. He'd never worn a seatbelt before, but right then, it was the smartest thing he'd ever done as they flew down the deserted two-lane road at nearly 70mph. Luna's red dot was easily surpassed by the red dot Daryl assumed was Parker. He felt Parker's anger like heat off the dashboard.

_Guess we're done talking for now. Not like I got much info anyway._

The trees thinned as they neared a strip mall. Abandoned cars, overturned shopping carts, and dozens of walkers filled the parking lot. Parker slowed their vehicle but didn't stop. Dead eyes tracked them. The walkers shuffled toward the Humvee.

"We'll lead them away, and then pick them off before Luna gets here." Parker drove at a snail's pace. He eyed Daryl's crossbow for a second. "Looks like you've got enough arrows for three ReCors. We've got a party on our hands."

Daryl shrugged. "Can't be helped. I've been in tighter corners."

True, but he'd always had the option of running away. A handful of bolts versus a herd of walkers weighed as much stupider than planting a tracker on a living man. He almost said something when the Humvee stopped. Parker handed him one of his guns, grip first. It felt heavy in Daryl's hand, but he was grateful for the help.

"Remember Rule One?"

Daryl nodded and cocked his gun, checking that the safety was off. With a steady hand, he opened his door. "Stay Alive."

o . O . o

**A/N: **Like it? Review it! Tell a friend! Is anyone out there? New chapters will be posted on Sundays — mostly.


	5. Clean Sweep

**Clean Sweep**

Both Daryl and Parker dripped with sweat as they threw walkers into a pile in the middle of the parking lot. Parker stopped them several times for water breaks. Stragglers from behind the strip mall jerked and slouched toward them, eyes glazed and unseeing, teeth chomping at air. Daryl reused the same arrow a number of times to kill them, not wanting to waste bullets.

Unlike arrows, bullets didn't grow on trees.

The strip mall consisted of a post office, a consignment shop, two empty slots with red "For Lease" signs in the windows, a convenience store, and Wally's Hunting and Fishing. The latter had mannequins in the display window; one wearing a soccer uniform, the other in some fancy hunting get-up with a million pockets and a fishing hat tipped to the side. Daryl squinted to convince himself it wasn't Dale in there. Ghosts clung to him no matter how he tried to escape them.

Parker siphoned gas from a tan Pontiac, then shook the liquid over the corpses. The sharp smell of gasoline overpowered the decay of flesh. Daryl dug into his pocket for his lighter. It wasn't there. He kept forgetting he'd left it at the prison.

_I liked that lighter, too_.

He rubbed the hem of his shirt across his face. It didn't do much good, as his shirt was soaked with sweat. Parker disappeared into the back of the buggy. Daryl gave the road ahead a quick sweep. Desolate. He craned his neck to see around their vehicle and down the road they'd driven. A speck bobbed on the edge of the horizon. _Luna_. Loki either ran through the woods, or he was too small to see from this distance.

Parker emerged and handed Daryl a bottle of water. He shaded his eyes with a hand and caught sight of Luna. "We'll let her catch up before we go inside. Three's better than two."

Daryl uncapped his bottle and took a long pull. Warm liquid ran down his throat, some of it spilled over his cheeks and trickled down his neck and chest. He poured more than he'd drank on his forehead, imagining steam rising off his head.

He eyed Parker, who had something to say by the way his mouth hung open. "I know it's a waste," Daryl said, twisting the cap back on, "but it's hotter than dog balls."

A grin cracked across Parker's face, showing white teeth for miles. His huge hand clapped Daryl's shoulder with a wet slap. "If we find water inside, I'll pour it on my head."

They both leaned under the shade of the post office's awning and waited. Loki sprinted past the tower of bodies and the Humvee. Behind, a Kentucky Warbler trilled. The wolf slowed to a trot and then circled back. Parker called, "Loki." The wolf didn't so much obey him as eye the parking lot warily until he caught the familiar sight of the rest of his pack. He pranced over, sniffed the pile of dead walkers, and flopped down near Daryl's boots.

Luna jogged to the open vehicle door. She removed her quiver and dropped it and her bow to the pavement. Then she shrugged out of her army vest and tossed it inside with a clunk. Daryl thought he was sweaty before he saw her. There wasn't a dry spot on the black shirt that clung to her back in a big wet patch. It shimmered in the sunlight. She collected her discarded weapons and shouldered the quiver's strap.

"Nice work," she said, nodding at the pile of walkers. "Sorry I wasn't here sooner to help." Then she dug into her pocket and pulled out a disposable lighter, flicked it a few times, and bent to set the remains ablaze.

"Hold up on that," said Daryl. "Fire's gonna attract more walkers. We should do what we came to do in them stores and then light 'em up."

"We saved the ones inside for you," Parker said. He tossed her his half-drained water bottle, which bounced off her breastbone before she caught it. "Ready?"

_She doesn't look ready_, Daryl thought. Dark smudges the color of new bruises drooped under her hazel eyes. They made the green pop. Daryl wondered at what cost. Luna didn't sway unsteady on her feet, but he felt the exhaustion swell off her like humidity. If Parker wasn't going to mention it, he sure as hell wasn't going to open his mouth. _Tired's stupid_, he reminded himself.

Luna chugged the bottle of water, and then noticed Loki. "Sorry, love." She climbed into the Humvee and reemerged with a canteen and a big silver bowl.

Once Loki's bowl was full, Luna turned to face Parker — a little sheepishly, if anyone asked Daryl.

"Sorry about this morning," she mumbled. Parker wrapped her in a big bear hug. Then to Daryl she said, "Had an hour to myself to think, and you and I need to chat."

Fear pinched Daryl's insides. He hated not knowing what she might have to "chat" with him about. The possibility of being sent on his way always lingered in the back of his mind. What did he bring to this group but another mouth to feed? Another back to watch? He dropped his eyes to the water he wasted —already evaporating off the asphalt — and grimaced.

He raised his chin, not ready to take a licking or accept defeat without a fight. "About what?"

Luna fidgeted, nervous or scared, before he looked off into the middle distance. "First, we clear the grocery." She punched his arm. "I got dibs on all the chocolate."

"I claim any tinned fish," said Parker. "Or oysters."

"Naturally," Luna agreed with a disgusted look on her face. She dropped down to a crouch and upturned the canteen into the empty silver bowl. "Loki, min tørst liten fisk."

Daryl headed straight for the grocery. Dirt smeared across the glass door making it impossible to see inside. He knew the drill: bang on the door, wait, kill whatever answered the dinner bell. Parker reached for the metal handle, no precautions at all. Daryl gripped his arm, harder than he meant to squeeze.

"Don't go in guns blazing," he said. "Make some noise. Let 'em come to us."

Parker nodded. "Good idea."

With his elbow, Daryl banged against the glass door. He stepped back, crossbow at the ready, and waited. When nothing turned up, Luna pulled the door open with a whoosh of rancid air. All three of them hopped back, covering their mouths and noses.

"Where's the ReCor rotting in here?" Parker coughed against the back of his hand.

"Be careful," said Luna, the front of her shirt up over her nose.

Daryl sucked a lungful of fresh air and crossed the threshold first. Enough light spilled through the glass windows behind him that he saw the mostly-full shelves. The odor probably kept the living away if they got as far as the door. More likely it was the herd of dead they'd killed with enough bullets to warrant replacing.

He kept his crossbow at eye level, sweeping a path in front of him, giving cursory glances to the floor in case something reached out to grab his leg. Cans of every kind of vegetable gathered dust. Bags of moldy bread swarmed with flies. The glass of the refrigerated section reflected the sunlight, the electricity having gone out long ago. Stacked in the corner were cases of water and beer. Untouched.

As he made his way around another aisle and toward the front, the smell got worse again until he found the source. The body of a dead man, a dark brown splatter on the back wall, crumpled across the counter. A Winchester rifle poked up from between his legs. Luna bumped into Daryl's back, making him flinch.

"Just me," she said. "Why'd he do it? All this food. Relative safety. Plus, he could go up to the roof and drop into one of the other stores if he needed to."

Daryl leaned past the dead man to grab a few packs of smokes. He tucked them into his back pocket. Along the counter were a number of cheap plastic lighters, he drummed his fingers until he found the refillable Zippos and popped one into each of his breast pockets. He handed a few plastic bags to Parker. "He opted out."

"Idiot," sneered Parker, shaking a plastic bag open.

Daryl pulled the rifle out of the dead man's clawed hand. A dried out finger snapped off against the metal trigger. On the counter sat a box of cartridges, only missing one, he guessed. He pocketed them too, and slung the rifle across his shoulders.

Luna continued to stare at the man. Parker returned to the counter with a bag full of canned goods and a case of water resting on his shoulder. He set them on the ground and headed back to another aisle, shouting, "Found the chocolate!" The only answer was a crinkle of wrappers dropping into another bag.

Daryl nudged her shoulder with the butt of the rifle. "Can't do nothin' for him." When she didn't respond, he asked, "This your first time seeing a stiff who offed hisself?"

"Hardly," she said. In her voice Daryl heard steel war with resignation. "Do we toss him on the pyre?"

Parker dropped another set of loaded plastic bags near the door. "He's not infected. No reason to waste time hauling his ass outside."

Daryl clamped his jaw shut before he could say they were all infected. He supposed they had a right to know. He just didn't want to be the one to break it to them. No wonder Rick didn't tell them right away.

"He hasn't turned. Doesn't mean he's not infected," Luna corrected him. She stood with her arms crossed, not tearing her eyes off the storeowner.

Daryl chewed his upper lip and looked between the dead guy and Luna. He growled, "Fine," before setting the rifle against the scratch ticket window. He grasped the guy's shirt and heaved him over the counter. The man had dried out to a husk, not weighing as much as he expected. Daryl and the dead guy toppled back.

"Cover us," said Parker, steadying Daryl before grabbing the man's bent legs.

Luna looped two full bags over each wrist before kicking the door open with her foot. Daryl followed her out the door, the reek of death filled his nose and mouth. He'd have to smoke a cigarette or five to get rid of the stank. They threw the body onto the pile, Loki paced between the open door and the bodies. Luna nodded at Daryl, the ghost of a smile flitting across her face. He found no comfort in the gesture.

They each made several trips from the store to the Humvee and back before all the bags and cases of water (and a few of beer) were safely stacked in the back of the vehicle. Luna shouted, "This could be the last bottle of whisky in Georgia, and it's all mine!"

True to his word, Parker opened a water and dumped it on himself. He shook his head back and forth imitating Loki, water droplets flying everywhere. Luna rolled her eyes and walked toward Wally's Hunting and Fishing. Parker crushed the plastic bottle in his fist and chucked it at her retreating form. Like earlier this morning, he missed wide.

Daryl let out a sharp "Ha!"

"Whatcha laughin' at, Daryl?"

"It's just," he said, squinting up at the bigger man, "put a gun in your hand and your aim's decent enough. Trust you to make a basket or whatever, and you're just bad, man."

"Call me Shaq at the line."

"Hey, Shaq," called Luna, "got another store over here to clear."

Daryl shook his head a little and joined Luna at the door. She banged her fist against the glass. Unlike the grocery, within seconds the moan and scratching fingers of a walker appeared. Both he and Luna held the door from swinging open. Daryl tried to imagine what she'd looked like in life: short and petite, dyed hair falling to her shoulders in waves, designer label clothes that were now covered in blood and rot. Behind her, another walker stalked to the door — his teeth gnashed to tear into their fresh meat.

Pushing against the woman clung what used to be a child, nine or ten. Carl's age when Daryl first met him. He shuddered. He'd never had to put down a kid before, even if it was a walker. Beside him, Luna sighed, her arms trembled from holding the door shut.

"We could leave them?" Daryl saw his reflection superimposed on the walker's face. In his mind, he'd become a walker. He squeezed his eyes shut to clear the image.

Luna laid a hand on his arm. Her touch was light as a songbird's and just as fleeting. "We have to put them all down. I did the math. For every one of us alive, there are at _least_ five thousand of them. Probably more like fifty thousand now." She peered into Daryl's eyes, and he felt the weight of her words all the way down to his core. "If we're gonna survive as a species, we _have_ to clear every ReCor we encounter."

Daryl nodded at her. Maybe that was Rule Five: kill 'em all.

"Luna, you open the door," said Parker walking up behind them. "Daryl and I will take care of the rest."

Daryl knew Luna was beat when she didn't argue, not even to explain she could handle it. She planted her feet on the ground and swung the door open enough to let the woman and the kid stumble out. Daryl corrected himself: she let the "walkers" out.

He didn't even blink when he shot the smaller one through the eye socket. It crumpled to the ground, a bolt sticking out of putrid flesh. Parker swung a tire iron down against the other's skull. It dropped on top of the first. Luna waited for one of them to give the signal before hauling the door open again. Daryl let Parker dispatch the third walker. Luna leaned heavily against the closed door while he and Parker carried more bodies to the macabre pyre.

"I hope there's ammo inside," Parker said, wheezing as he shoved the kid to the top. The walker. The _walker_.

"You low?"

"Not low, but the buggy's not exactly a bullet-making mobile either."

Behind them shrieked a woman's voice. Luna's voice. Daryl dropped the corpse and swung his crossbow off his back and into his hands. He raced to the door, slamming it open so hard that the glass shattered in a million pieces. His boots crunched over the shards. Loki streaked in ahead of him. He left bright bloody paw prints on the tiled floor. Inside was a disaster. Shelves smashed along the walls. Clothing racks were broken, spilling plastic hangers and collared shirts. Golf clubs and fishing rods littered the floor in a tangled mess.

Parker pushed past Daryl, his tire iron held in front of him with a sweaty hand. Near the display case filled with guns and knives, Luna slumped against the floor. Loki gave the death shake to what remained of a walker. In its grip was Luna's leg. The wet snap of a neck sounded between Loki's growls. Most of its lower half had been devoured. Ragged bones flailed from torn pants.

Loki dragged the mess away from Luna and dropped it. Parker smashed its head again and again, flecks of brain and gore flying into the air in a huge arc.

Daryl knelt at Luna's side. He dropped his crossbow and moved to lift her up. Loki pounced in front of him and snarled, showing black gums and yellowed canines. Daryl snatched back his hands, put them up in surrender. Thought he'd be better served covering his throat, as he sat back hard on his ass.

"Loki," soothed Parker. Loki spun on him. He looked helplessly at Daryl. "I can't remember her stupid Norwegian commands. Is she alive?"

Daryl didn't answer. All he saw in front of him was a hundred pounds of menace and rage. From his peripheral view, Daryl watched Parker back away. Loki lunged at Parker, skidded against the tiles leaving smears of blood, swung his head to bark at Daryl, and backed up again.

The distinct smell of coppery blood wafted up. Daryl snuck a glance down at Luna's prone form. A streak of bright red oozed down her forehead, dripped off the bridge of her nose, and pooled under her cheek. From this distance, he couldn't tell if she continued breathing or not.

Parker paced just out of view, mumbling a prayer — or a curse — under his breath. Loki stepped closer to Luna's body. He eyed his mistress and whined. Nudged her shoulder with his muzzle. Daryl caught the jerky movement of her fingers, but her eyes remained closed. Loki took her wrist in his mouth — gentle enough not to break the skin — and pulled. Daryl was shocked at how tenderly the beast treated her.

A ragged, unnatural breath tore from her lungs. Loki dropped Luna's wrist. He cocked his head and sniffed her hair. Daryl trusted the wolf's senses more than his own. When Loki sat on his haunches and howled, he knew it was bad.

Daryl felt his heart skip a beat, then another, anticipation held it silent in his chest. He groaned through his teeth, gathered his crossbow, and aimed it at her head to end her misery before she became a threat. It's what he hoped someone else would do for him.

The tortured sound of Loki's howling echoed out into the Georgia afternoon.

o . O . o

**A/N: **Like it? Leave a review! Sorry for the cliffhanger (actually, I'm #sorrynotsorry), but this _was_ the longest chapter so far. I had to wrap it up. New chapters will be posted on Sundays — mostly.


	6. Funeral Pyre

**Funeral Pyre**

Daryl flicked the silver lighter open against his leg. Closed against the back of his thigh. Opened. Closed. Opened. Closed. Parker, eyes red-rimmed and puffy, sat on the roof of the Humvee staring off into nowhere. Loki had crawled under the vehicle earlier. Neither Daryl nor Parker had dared to disturb the wolf or coerce him to move. They'd promised to drive as far away from here as they could before it got dark. First though, they had one more task to complete.

With another flip open, he ran his thumb against the thumbwheel and the flame burst to life. Daryl fed a handful of flyers advertising a local peewee baseball tournament into the fire. The paper caught and sparks danced across the burning fiber. He glanced up at Parker one last time. The older man wiped his face with his hand, stood up, and turned away from the pyre.

Daryl dropped the makeshift torch on the top body and stepped back. The gasoline soaked rags spread the flames throughout the collection of dead. The heat blew past Daryl, but he hardly felt it. He watched as a familiar hand crinkled and charred, pieces of burnt flesh fell away from the bone.

_It's gonna be a long night,_ he thought and walked away from the bonfire.

**Earlier**

Daryl's finger hovered over the trigger. He wanted to give Luna more time to show signs of life. Any sign of life. Parker cried into the heels of his hands. Big racking sobs from a giant of a man. Loki howled like he'd never stop. The walls seemed to collapse around them. The crunch of glass underfoot went unnoticed.

Behind him, Parker sniffled, "Oh, shit!"

Daryl swiveled around in time to catch a group of walkers lurch through the broken door. Just out of his reach were a dozen or more bolts in a wicker basket that read: Buy Two, Get One Free! He flipped off the end cap and shot the nearest walker. The bolt went inside its open mouth, and then broke without piercing the brain. Daryl cursed and bent down to reload.

The crack of metal on bone followed. Parker lifted his tire iron and brought it down several more times. Before he'd finished letting off steam, another walker reached out and grabbed at his shirt. Its jaws snapped inches from his exposed neck. Parker pushed the corpse back. It stumbled, gained its footing, and lunged at him again. Daryl shot another bolt, his second to last, and this one hit its mark. Parker blinked at him through watery eyes, grateful or terrified, he couldn't tell.

The last walker cornered Loki, it didn't flinch when the wolf tore off its right hand. Daryl sprinted to the sale shelf and plucked a number of bolts from the basket. He spit on the sign before loading the crossbow. A second before he pulled the trigger, Parker bobbed into view and slammed the iron against the walker's skull. The body crumpled in front of Loki, who tore a long strip of flesh from its neck.

Daryl moved to the broken door and peered out. The coast was clear. He didn't know how long it would stay that way after Loki's howling. Every walker in five miles probably heard the racket and was slouching its way toward them. To be safe, he backed into the store and slipped the basket of bolts out of the wire hanger.

With Loki distracted, Daryl hurried to the gun and knife case. In the shadows, he saw Luna's upper body rise off the floor and then crash down again. _No, no, no, no_. These people weren't his family, but that didn't mean they deserved to die. A pathetic cry escaped her lips. Daryl raised his crossbow and aimed it at her head again. Parker put a hand on the bolt.

"I should do it," he said, pushing the loaded weapon down. "Her daddy would want to know she didn't suffer."

"No one asked me," came a weak voice from the floor, "but I'm definitely suffering."

Both men raced over to help her up. Blood poured down the right side of her face from the gash above her eye. Daryl bent down to pick up the nearest piece of clothing. He pressed it against her head and checked her pupils. The right one was huge and fully dilated. The left smaller.

"Did you get scratched?" Parker stooped down to pull at her pants leg.

"At least buy a lady a drink first."

Parker didn't laugh. He remained crouched at her feet, a trembling hand on her shin.

"No, I don't think it got through the leather." She unlaced her boot and pulled up her cuff so everyone could see her unmarked leg. "See, no scratches.

"Stupid thing surprised me. I tripped and must've cracked my head on the counter." She pressed the fabric against her forehead and winced. Bright red seeped through. "I hope I don't need stitches."

"Worried about your modeling career?" teased Parker.

She barked with laughter. "Not at all. I'm worried about your terrible sewing skills."

Loki startled Daryl with his sudden appearance near his legs. Luna wobbled on her feet and slid down with her back against the display case. Loki rubbed his head under her hand, careful not to get his bloody muzzle near her skin. He whined. Luna stroked his giant ears and cooed at him. Then she pushed him away suddenly and retched.

"Better raid this place quick," said Daryl, pointing at the wolf. "He announced our location to every walker in the neighborhood." He pointed at Luna next. "And she's got a concussion."

"We'll stay and take care of them. There's enough ammo here." Parker smacked fistfuls of bullet boxes onto the counter. "We gotta take this neighborhood back for the living."

"I said she's gotta concussion, which leaves just you and me in fighting form." He leaned back to make sure she hadn't passed out on the floor. Luna pursed her lips and gave him a curt nod.

Parker stacked more boxes onto the counter. "You, me, and a thousand of our leetle friends."

Daryl stepped away from the counter. He rummaged through a stack of fabric before pulling out a huge blue canvas duffel bag stuffed with baseball bats. More noise echoed through the store when he dumped the bats out. He didn't apologize. Every box Parker amassed on the counter went inside.

"That's all the 9mm and the .45s. What kind of bullets do you need for your new rifle?"

Daryl removed the box of cartridges from his pocket. "30-30s, but I don't like using guns if I don't need 'em. They're loud and attract the wrong kind of attention."

"Parker likes any kind of attention," Luna said, standing up slowly. She rested her elbows against the counter top. Daryl was too polite to say he'd already noticed this about Parker. She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. "I think Daryl's right though. We shouldn't stay here too much longer."

"At least we should clear the last store." Parker huffed and slid spools of varying gauged fishing line into the bag as well. "They got clothes, and you reek."

Luna sniffed herself. "Lady sweat smells like flowers."

"Then you ain't no lady," said Daryl, waving a hand under his nose. Both Parker and Luna stared at him wide-eyed and open-mouthed. Daryl dropped his hand to apologize — misjudging the mood and his place in their banter, but then Luna cracked a smile.

"Touché." She leaned over to vomit again. Daryl thought about rubbing her back like his ma used to do until he turned five. Five meant being a man about things in the Dixon household. He kept his hands to himself.

Parker slung the bag's strap across his chest. "I'll take this to the buggy. Then I'll check if there's any rubbing alcohol in the grocery. We don't have any."

Luna wiped the jersey across her face and tossed it. "And I'm not wasting good whisky on a head wound."

The big man left the store, lugging the bag of bullets like a cat burglar. Daryl scanned the remaining merchandise. He made a checklist in his head of weapons he had and weapons he needed. Apart from the basket of bolts, he didn't figure he needed anything else. Luna tucked her pants back into her boot and laced it up to her knee.

"Probably not a good idea to be drinking with a concussion," said Daryl. "We'll have to wake you up every couple hours tonight. Make sure you're alive."

"You'll know I'm alive when I kill you for waking me up."

Parker returned with a bottle of gin in each hand. He shook them and said, "Score one for sterilization!"

Luna and Daryl headed to the exit. Luna turned to call Loki to her. The wolf got up slowly, limping across the floor. Daryl noticed the blood before she did. There were also drying paw prints near the door.

"_Hva skjedde__, Loki __kjærlighet_?" She kneeled down to inspect his paws, a droplet of blood falling off her chin. Loki growled at her, softer than he'd growled at Daryl. "Loki, no! _Ned!_ _Ned!_"

He nipped at her hands when she pushed him to lie down. She didn't flinch away from his teeth. He wasn't having any of her administrations and wiggled away.

"No! _Komme_! _Komme_! _Sitte_!" He obeyed her, tail tucked between his legs. "Parker, help me keep him still. I'll hold his head. Daryl, check his paws. And hurry up cuz Imma be sick again."

Daryl waited until Parker and Luna's weight kept the wolf pressed against the floor before he grabbed a front leg. Loki kicked out and snarled, but Luna held him from biting anyone. Both front paws had superficial cuts and a few slivers of glass that he picked out. They didn't bleed much when Daryl brushed his fingers against the rough pads. He slid to the back paws. A dagger of glass stuck out from the space between Loki's footpad and his toes. Dark red blood oozed up from the wound.

Daryl grunted. He hated inflicting pain. He'd rather be beaten to a pulp than watch someone else suffer. Even if that someone else was a wolf. "Hold him steady. It's gonna hurt like a sumnabitch." With shaky fingers, he wrenched at the dagger. It didn't budge, Loki howled, and they all flinched. When Daryl looked up, he noticed that huge tears rolled down Parker's cheeks. Luna buried her face against Loki's ruff.

He wiped the sweat off on his pants, uncapped one of the gins, and poured some on his hand. Then he blew on his fingers to dry them. Parker rubbed his face on his shoulder and looked away when Daryl reached down and ripped the glass shard out of Loki's paw. The wolf struggled under their hands while Daryl poured a stream of alcohol over the wound. His stomach churned as the blood bubbled up, diluted pink, between his pads.

"Do wolves put up with stitches?" He wished Hershel were here. That man was tough enough to wrestle lions.

"I'll keep an eye on it for infection," Luna said from behind a face full of fur. "I doubt he'd let us stitch him up without a tranq."

Parker and Luna released their grips, and Loki shot to the back of the store as soon as he was free. Daryl got up and kicked some of the bigger pieces of glass out of the way, but it was Luna who laid down a number of fishing vests across the threshold.

Daryl pointed at the broken door. "I did that. Loki's injury? That's on me."

"It was an accident." She looked back at Loki, huddled down licking his paw and whining. "Too bad we can't tell him that."

She picked up the alcohol and left the store. Daryl waited for her words to sink in and make him feel less guilty. It didn't work. He shouted to Loki, "I'm sorry," before following her out.

Parker stood in front of the last store's door. He'd rubbed a circle of dirt off the glass and stared inside. He banged on the door a few times before turning to face Daryl.

"Those last ones must've been in here. No one left inside."

"Give it a minute."

Luna hung back, a pistol in her hand, while Daryl and Parker went inside. Daryl felt a tiny grain of gratitude when they didn't find any more walkers. His arms burned from loading his crossbow and hauling dead corpses around all morning. His stomach grumbled a warning, but he ignored it. He'd been hungry plenty of times in his life and survived to eat again.

He ran his hand across a rack of plaid shirts. They were like the hand-me-downs he inherited from Merle: clean but used. He rubbed their fabric between his fingers. Hell, he couldn't remember the last time he'd ever had a new shirt — only new to him. He ripped a couple off their hangers and balled them up. Luna slapped a garbage bag against his chest.

"White trash luggage." She held up her own bag, a lump at the bottom. "We only travel third class."

Anger reared inside him. Was she making fun of him? It took all his willpower to tamp it down, to step back and assess the situation. Luna's eyes glimmered without malice. Dried blood caked the right side of her face, making her look a little insane. The cut above her eyebrow wept fresh blood. He took a few breaths, tried to relax.

Once he'd calmed down enough to trust his voice, he asked, "They got any boots?"

"Mostly loafers," answered Parker from somewhere near the front. "Oh, and these fuzzy bunny slippers."

The slippers sailed through the air. One bounced off Luna's head. She picked it up and chucked it back at Parker. "Find me wolf slippers!" she shouted. Daryl dumped some plaids, khakis, and a belt into his bag. He wandered the store aimlessly, not wanting anything. And certainly not wanting to mule more than he could carry.

When he headed toward the door, he caught Luna without a shirt before she pulled a new one over her head. She didn't see him gawking at her —and he spun away quickly — but not before catching the puckered skin above her waistband. He knew an old scar when he saw one. _Every scar has a story_.

Daryl left the store and headed straight to the Humvee. He flung his bag onto the backseat and heard a strange gargle coming from near his feet. He leaped back and pointed his crossbow. Rotten arms didn't reach out to grab him, so Daryl crouched down to find Loki under the carriage showing his teeth.

Daryl lowered his weapon. "I said I was sorry."

"Try telling him '_Jeg__elsker deg_'."

"High died?"

"Yigh else kah die," Luna enunciated each syllable, then ran them together a few times. "_Jeg__elsker deg_. He might forgive you. He might rip your face off. Give it a go."

She climbed into the Humvee and pulled a fleece jacket out of her bag. Daryl glanced at her to see if she were kidding. She ignored him and tore the coat into long strips.

Daryl leaned back down to Loki's eyelevel and mumbled, "_Jeg__elsker deg_."

Loki looked him over with bright blue eyes and whined a little. Daryl repeated the phrase. He had no idea what he was saying, and somehow it didn't matter because the wolf gave a huge huff and put his head down on his front paws.

The Humvee jangled when Parker climbed up to the roof and turned in a slow 360, checking for danger. Daryl kept his eyes on the wolf as he stepped away. He bumped into the trunk of an Impala before turning to the parking lot and its grisly pyre. He pulled out a lighter from his front pocket and played with the lid against his leg. Opened. Closed. Opened. Closed.

o . O . o

**A/N: **Like it? Review it! Next couple chapters will be light on action and heavy on stuff and thangs. New chapters will be posted on Sundays — mostly.


	7. Nightmares

**Nightmares**

Luna didn't ask for help cleaning her wound. Daryl watched her in the vanity mirror as she grimaced and chewed her lower lip each time she dragged the gin-soaked strip of fleece near the laceration. He'd had enough cuts and burns over the years that he knew how to patch them up good as any ER. Good enough to keep out infection, at least. When he fell on his own arrow looking for Sophia, Herschel'd stitched him up, but he could've done it himself. He'd stitched up Merle a hundred times with nothing more than a hooked needle and fishing line.

Somehow he couldn't bring himself to offer his help, and that alone forced him to stop staring like she was some kind of train wreck. Some kind of post-apocalyptic entertainment. At least, until she pulled out a roll of duct tape from the glove box and cut the silvery-gray tape into thin strips.

"I get duct tape fixes everything, but what'cha plan on fixin' with those?"

She had a piece of tape dangling off every finger of her left hand. "Don't want to waste our medical supplies, so I'm improvising butterfly strips."

Parker huffed. "Luna, we don't have to go all primitive. There's a fully stocked First Aid kit under the seat."

"Like Daryl said, duct tape fixes everything."

Daryl figured if Parker's hands weren't gripping the steering wheel, he'd throw them up in defeat. He was getting how this group operated. Parker gave advice that fell on obstinate ears. Luna did as she pleased, and Loki only followed her commands. The grown wolf currently huddled behind the back seat, licks and the occasional whine being the only things that gave him away.

The Humvee slowed down until it came to a stop near where the tracks crossed. Daryl's view went on until the horizon. The tracks seemed to meet each other there. Parker turned the crank to power the tracker console, while Luna applied a piece of duct tape to her swollen forehead.

Parker made one comment before turning his attention to the device, "Don't overlap your skin—"

"The edges should kiss like brother and sister," Luna interrupted. "I _have_ done this before."

"Just trying to help," Parker said to the screen in his lap. He picked it up enough that Daryl could see the green gridlines. Their position was reduced to a single red dot glowing strong and steady on the right side of the screen. Parker didn't zoom in close enough to the other red dot farther to the left for it to separate into two. He avoided that fight for now, Daryl realized.

_Man could've been a politician_.

"Ow!" Luna winced. "Okay. I admit it. I need help." She held out her silver strips to Parker, wiggled her fingers. "Please help."

And that's how she apologized for snapping at him. Daryl, sitting behind the metal cage, took in the whole interaction. Parker's face brightened. He set the screen on the seat, then cleaned his hands out the window with gin and the bloody rag. His big fingers applied the stripes with deft, soft movements. Soon Luna's gash resembled a cyborg's, all silver and evenly spaced.

She gave his forearm a quick squeeze before opening the door and hopping out. Daryl reached for his crossbow. Parker spread a map out across the dashboard and referenced it against the console several times. Luna opened the back door and pulled herself up and in.

"I should sleep before I bite your head off too." Daryl heard Parker chuckle in the front seat. "Switch with me?"

He saw the ugly knot coloring her forehead red for now. In a couple hours, it would be purple and black. It trailed down her brow, the dark circles under her eyes completed the picture. Two inches down and the fall would've taken her eye out. _Please, not him. Not now_. His brain made the comparison to the Governor so quickly it sent a snap of rage flooding his veins. Anger. Anger. Always at the ready when he didn't want to — couldn't! — feel anything else.

The Governor was dead, wasn't he? Rick had shot him. Or Carl. Or Beth. Or Maggie. Someone had taken him down back at the prison.

But Daryl'd survived. And Beth, too. That bus full of people got out. So it was possible that the Governor had survived. Daryl clenched his fingers hard around his crossbow, almost forgetting to grab his quiver of new bolts.

Luna stood hunched over, waiting for him to move. She looked queasy and broken. He needed space. Lots of open space. Not to sit around and be someone's nursemaid. This is what kept Michonne hunting all those months when he'd given up. This fire in his gut. He slid out of the seat and around Luna, down from the buggy to face the woods.

"Goin' hunting," he said to no one in particular. The monster inside him wanted to fight, and these people weren't the enemy.

Luna had already climbed over the first seat to take the one behind it, but Parker stopped him in his tracks. The man stuck his head out the passenger window.

"We got enough food for months. Could use your help on watch while I make some dinner though." Parker was like a snare he hadn't known was there.

"Won't be gone but a coupla hours." He raised a hand to shade his eyes and looked at the sky. "I'll bring back fresh meat before the sun goes down."

Still, Parker had a point: they could use Daryl on watch now that Luna was messed up. But he couldn't be here right now. Not with the feelings inside, loosening his tongue, and filling him with venom. He hated himself for being another thorn in Parker's side. Another complication. Daryl didn't wait for Parker to say something not worth fighting over before he walked into the forest and let Nature hide him while he worked out his demons.

**Luna**

_Blood. Blood. So much blood. A figure wearing a hood. A knife at Mommy's throat. The scream tears up through me, but it's too late. The gash across her throat sprays blood across the front of her shirt. Runs down my cheeks like tears. Red tears that taste of copper and destruction. She's dead. Dead. Dead_.

These images have haunted my sleep since long before the reCors. They're as much a part of me as the shape of my hands or the color of my eyes. When Parker shakes me awake, holding my wrists together, whispering "Wake up, baby girl. I gotcha. You're safe", I know it's another nightmare. If it weren't for the buggy's metal walls, I'd never have survived away from the compound. The nightmares wouldn't let me.

Do reCors dream? Sometimes they're so still, waiting, immobile. Maybe the reels of their lives play behind their dead eyes, until they're brought out of their stupor by the scent of the living.

Parker wraps his big arms around me. I feel secure with my chin tucked into the crook of his elbow. He presses his fingers into my neck muscles and shh shh shhs me, as the fear abates, the shudders run their course. Parker knows why I scream and thrash in my sleep, but it was Tommy who used to wake me, gentle as a hummingbird. Afraid of hurting me.

That's not to say that Parker's not gentle with me. He's just … different. I wipe the back of my wrists across my cheeks. The tears are hot and thick. Loki lays close and rests his muzzle on my thigh. I trace patterns in his fur with a fingertip. When I hiccup, Parker's other hand offers me a bottle of water. This is a dance we've done a few times. He's a good partner, but he's not Tommy.

I'll never tell him. I'll stuff that secret deep inside. So deep that I might forget it. I want to forget. Parker does the best he can do.

"I'm sorry for being so horrible," I croak. The words burn their way out of my throat, raw from screaming. I take small sips of water. It tastes like copper, but I manage to choke it down.

"You was just tired, baby girl, and hurt," he says.

He would never get away with calling me baby girl outside of these moments when I'm weak and mewling like a kitten. He calls other women at the compound baby girl all the time, and they melt. I don't know why the term bothers me. And I know Parker doesn't mean nothing romantic by it. Maybe Mom called me that. If I didn't already know the damage it would cause, I'd ask Daddy. It won't matter much if we don't make it back alive anyway. My absence must be killing him.

I grip Parker's arm, skin cool and firm beneath my hand. "Daryl?"

"He's out hunting." Parker squeezes my shoulder. Helps me sit all the way up. "But he'll find out soon enough. Unless we're ditching him?"

"We can't." I pour the rest of the water into Loki's bowl. He doesn't get up, so I inspect all of his paws. None are bleeding, but he kicks the back one out of my hand before I press the rougher skin there. "Aside from the fact that we could use him to help take out those assholes, there's Rule Four. Remember?"

Parker nods his head. "I remember. Was checking with the mission leader." He calls me that when he's teasing me. At least he didn't say "roger" or "over". At least he's sticking with my original plan.

We climb up to the roof of the buggy. Loki slinks back under the seat. Pouting, I guess. The sky is bluer than Daryl's eyes. Why'd I make that connection? Head injury. Check. The road and surrounding area are clear. Not a reCor to ruin the late afternoon, but it's getting chilly. In a month or two, winter will cover Georgia with frost and a dusting of snow. But now? Now the hum of insects lulls my heart back to its normal pace. Parker convinces me to let him brush out my hair.

"One of the things a single dad learns pretty quick is how to braid hair. Especially with two daughters and all those granbabies running around."

He gets quiet after that. We avoid talking about his dead family, just like we don't talk about my dead mom. The nightmares about it are getting worse though. I used to go years without a single occurrence. Then the reCors came, and I'd have one once a month. Since Tommy died, I've had one every time I close my eyes, so I stopped closing my eyes until today. The rhythmic movements of first the comb and then his fingers through my hair feels almost as good as a massage. Soothes away those dark images.

Parker hums under his breath at first. It's the chorus of a song I heard when I was really young, maybe four or five, but I know all the words. Old school hip-hop is one of the things that Parker and I bonded over in the early days once we rescued him. After a day like today, this is how we find our humanity again. Parker sings full falsetto, the rhythm of his fingers in my hair matching the beat.

I jump in with the last verse. "_Your best friend Harry has a brother, Larry, in five days from now he's gonna marry. He's hopin' you can make it there if you can, cuz in the ceremony you'll be the best man*_."

"Is this a damn beauty shop quartet?"

Daryl. His voice is gruffer than it was when we first met. The lines in his face are new too.

I squint at him through one eye, the right one being a little swollen. He's filthy, but I'm not sure I've ever seen him cleaned up. Not even years ago in North Atlanta when I hid. Hid before he or his dumbass brother, Merle, caught sight of me. It only occurs to me now that he wouldn't have remembered me then if he doesn't recognize me now. Hiding from him was stupid. It didn't change the past.

A cloth bag dangles off one of his hands. In the other is his crossbow. It's exactly how I've always remembered him. Okay, he was never as tall as he is in my memories. And he never owned such an expensive weapon. And he never ever called me Luna or let me help him.

I glare at him, and then figure I look ridiculous with one eye half-shut, a full-grown man braiding my hair, and a giant lump on my forehead. "If it is," I shout down to him, "you're next! Cuz, boy, you need a haircut. How you see "walkers" past all that mess in yer face?"

There's a tense moment. Parker's hands stop twisting sections of my hair. Daryl meets my glare with his own, and right now? Right now, his wins. The expression falls from his face. Parker takes a shaky breath behind me. Maybe they shared some fighting words earlier.

"See this meat I got with all this "mess in my face"?" He swings a piece of twine off his shoulder. Two squirrels and a rabbit hang off it, and my mouth waters on sight. "Only people without duct tape all over _their_ faces get to eat it."

"Hilarious. Really. I'm dying inside with all the laughter."

"Done." Parker snaps an elastic hair tie around the end of my braid. "Bring it up here when you're done cleaning it. I've got a grill to prep."

Parker, with his big gentle hands, pats my shoulder before he slips down into the buggy to get the grill. I promised Daryl earlier today we'd have a talk, but I only meant to tell him how I knew him. How he should know me. Not how I have nightmares like a little kid. Now I have to rip open my chest and show him my mangled heart. Fantastic. Fan-_freaking_-tastic.

I stand and head toward the rungs. Take a breath when I know I can't be seen. My feet hit the asphalt, sending a tremble through my muscles, or maybe that's muscle spasms. This is when I'd normally put on my gear and go for a run with Loki. He's a good excuse for avoidance.

When I round the buggy, Daryl's there waiting. He's got a firm grip on the string of game. "I'll help you clean 'em."

He doesn't say anything, just nods, like somehow he's figured out my secret, and he's being gentle like Parker. I flex my trembling fingers and crawl into the buggy to get a few knives. Parker's already back on the roof, so I don't have to avoid his encouragement to come clean. Knives in hand, I hop down to the road again.

It's now or never.

**Daryl**

"Those're new." Daryl indicated with his knife. The sun kept catching the diamond earrings when she bent her head to skin one of the squirrels.

Luna's bloodied fingers touched her earlobe, leaving a small smear of red. "Found them this morning on a dead one in the field. She won't miss 'em. It's not stealing."

"Wasn't judging." Daryl's trek into the woods had cooled his anger. He lightened his tone. "Jus' noticed they was new."

She collected the innards in a pile. The skins and claws were tossed into the brush. "I forgot just how much you notice while being so quiet about it."

They continued working until all three of the rodents had been skinned and dressed. Luna whistled her Kentucky warbler. Loki remained hidden. She called again. He stuck his huge head out the open back door. Luna waggled the rabbit liver, but he stayed where he was sitting. She dropped it back onto the steaming pile and picked up the two squirrels.

"I'll take these to Parker. Then, I'll tell you what you want to know while he cooks. It's not a long story."

o . O . o

**A/N: **Like it? Review! Luna's POV will come into play now and again. I'm working my way to the Rick / Carl / Michonne / Marauders storyline. But, not gonna lie, it might not be for another few chapters. * Lyrics from _Bust a Move _by Young MC. New chapters will be posted on Sundays — mostly.


	8. Something That Happened

**Something That Happened**

Luna brought him a cup of coffee with a finger of whisky he tasted at the back of his throat. He watched her pour her own cup of whisky with two fingers of coffee. It shouldn't be that difficult to finally answer who she was, and she shouldn't be drinking with a concussion. He drank another mouthful of coffee. He liked that it burned all the way down.

She downed her mug in a few quick gulps and settled down on the seat in front of him. Loki leaped up to join her and fell asleep, unaware of the fear she held onto like a shield. He watched her fingers clutch a fistful of Loki's fur. It almost, almost convinced him he didn't really care how she knew him then. He was getting to know her now.

"It's hard to talk about Before because of all we've lost since. Before seems so petty now, but it's _not_ petty. It's where we came from. I want you to know that I made my peace with what I'm about to tell you more than a decade ago. I never blamed you, Daryl. Believe it."

He sipped his coffee and nodded, watching her jump at shadows and not knowing why. Daryl feared the answer. There were enough shadows in his past to be afraid of, and he wasn't done slaying them all.

Luna held her hand out to him. "Hi, I'm Wildflower. Nice to see you again."

He looked at her. The name meant nothing to him. Her hand stayed there for a second longer before she dropped it against the back of the seat. Defeated.

"That was anti-climatic as hell. I bet if my name were Waterfall, you'd remember me. Merle certainly knew my older sister. Where is Merle anyway?"

"Dead."

"I'm sor—"

"Don't be," said Daryl. "You didn't kill him." No, he'd done that. Drove him away. He didn't want to talk about it.

He didn't want to talk about no Waterfall either. The Waterfall he knew was a dumbass stripper in Atlanta that hung off Merle for the drugs. Merle kept her around for the sex. They'd get high and make-out in front of him. If he hadn't left the room, they'd probably have screwed in front of him too. And she had to be Luna's — Wildflower's — older sister. How many girls named Waterfall were there in Georgia?

Daryl remembered the night Waterfall OD'd like it was last night. _Damn_. He wasn't going to remind Luna of that, or his unwitting involvement. Luna said _she_ knew _him_, and she said she didn't blame him, but he didn't want to relive that night. Broken shards fell into place, and the memories hurt as much as when they happened. He swallowed the last of his Irish coffee. The whisky blossomed in his chest, dampening his feelings.

"When my mom … died." Daryl noticed how she choked on the word. More to that story, he knew, but he stayed quiet as if she were an animal he didn't want to spook.

"Daddy raised me like the son they never had. Most of my older sisters were out in the world or nearing it, and he'd stopped tying hair bows and making me wear dresses. We lived out in the woods by then because Daddy didn't trust people. He feared something worse was coming. He wanted me to survive it."

"Hmm," Daryl grunted, scratched a thumb along his jaw. He hoped it was an encouraging sound. "I went to school with a girl named Whisper. She one of your sisters?"

"Yeah. Winter, Willow, Wren, Waterfall, Whisper, and Wildflower." She ticked off the names on her fingers. "Everyone knew one of us."

Everyone knew Merle too, but Daryl wasn't about to bring him up again.

"I was the only one Daddy taught to fish and hunt; how to skin a rabbit and dress a deer. I lived most of the time covered in mud, and I loved him for allowing it. He spent a summer teaching me to use a bow, and later how to craft arrows. I wasn't allowed to use them by myself until they flew straight and true. Anything I could do to please him, I did without complaint. I never cried. Daddy hated tears. He said they manipulated men into action.

"When I was ten, I ran into an older boy in the woods. Our neighbors liked their solitude. That's why we'd all moved into the woods. He was seventeen, full of piss and vinegar, but he'd always been nice around the little kids playing in the creek or following him like the Lost Boys. Maybe because we hero-worshipped him, and he needed to know he mattered." Luna looked at Daryl, waiting for recognition to cross his face.

"He'd lost his mother, like me. He had an older sibling, like me. I thought that made us the same. Thought it gave me the right to invade every part of his life."

He'd known the story would be about him when she told him all that shit about it not being his fault. He pressed his back against the metal of the Humvee, prepared for an anvil to drop on his head.

She cracked her knuckles. "The boy taught me how to tell the difference between coon tracks and rabbit tracks. I'd spend days running through the forest and scaring everything in sight. He remained patient, showing me how to step on top of the fallen leaves, to leave as little a trail for someone else to follow as possible. I knew he hid from his daddy or his brother, but I never ratted him out. Sometimes he'd show up with black eyes or a busted lip. He'd be quieter then. More likely to kick a kid than help them tie their shoe. I learned to read his bruises as easily as the animal trails and say nothin' about 'em."

She paused again and raised her hand, as if to trace one of those long-healed bruises on his jaw. The heat of her palm scorched a path across his skin, but she never touched him. Her hand wavered, uncertain, before falling into her lap.

"Years later, Daddy bought me my very own bow, all shiny and full of snap. I raced into the woods to find the boy. To show him I was just as good a hunter as he was, maybe even better." Luna stopped to laugh. "I've never outgrown my pride."

It drew a smirk out of Daryl. Jarred another memory of a skinny girl with scrapped elbows and knees stomping behind him with a million questions. A girl who never asked him his name but used it like it was hers. His Uncle Jesse complained they'd never get to hunt again without all the racket. Merle said far less charitable things.

The way Luna held her bow as a kid matched this older version of her when she killed those two walkers. It finally made sense why that seemed familiar.

"Anyway, I found the boy. He was dressing a squirrel and whistling wildly out of tune."

"You can call him 'Daryl' if you want. We both know you're talking about me."

Luna wouldn't meet his eyes. She gave a little nod and continued. "I raced up to him — to you — and showed you my new bow and quiver. Anger like I'd never seen crossed your face. You called me a 'spoiled lil' bitch' and shoved me. If I hadn't been so shocked, I might have put an arrow in your ass."

Daryl felt embarrassment creep up the back of his neck. "I don'member. Sorry for being a dick, if it matters."

"It might have been better if I'd stuck with 'the boy' until the end." She punched him in the arm the way a kid sister would. "Somehow I understood, after I'd finished being pissed at you, and cutting up your squirrel into tiny pieces, that you were jealous. Even at thirteen, I knew our situations weren't the same. We lived less than a mile from each other, we both wore hand-me-downs, but we couldn't have been raised more differently."

Loki got up and spun around and around. He settled so his head rested on Luna's thigh. She rubbed behind his ears for a minute, lost in thought.

"The next time I saw you, you apologized with some rather filthy swears I hadn't ever heard."

"Sorry 'bout that too."

"Don't be. I delighted that you saw me as an equal instead of as a little kid. All the other grownups would spell them or give each other those knowing looks. It drove me crazy." She rolled her eyes. "We got into a discussion about squirrels versus rabbits. You said both were good for eatin'—"

"Well, they are!" Daryl cut in.

"But I said only one was worth killing to feed more than one person. So we made a bet: in the morning we'd both have five hours to hunt. Whoever brought in the most squirrels or rabbits won. We spit into our palms and shook on it. Sealing a bet with spit was the most grownup thing I'd done in my life so far."

"Are you sure this happened," Daryl said. "Sounds a lil' far-fetched to me."

"Because you're portrayed with flaws?"

"Naw. Because we both know I'd bring back fifty squirrels to every one of your damn rabbits."

She ignored his bravado and pressed on.

"I woke up before the sun the next morning. Got dressed in the dark. Slipped out of the house with a bottle of juice in my pocket and my bow and arrows. I spent the entire day following the trails and going to the far reaches of my patience. By mid-morning I had four fat rabbits. Enough meat to feed my entire family, so I went to our meeting place and sat on an overturned log. I waited into afternoon. Got so bored, I paunched and dressed the rabbits and strung them up on a cord. Learned that from your Uncle Jesse. Bet you did too. The sun sat on the horizon, and still you hadn't shown up. The anger of a thousand yellow jackets swarmed inside me.

"There were only a handful of things I had enough sense to be frightened of back then. Two of them were Merle and your daddy. Merle was in jail, and I figured I was grown enough to face your daddy. I had my righteous anger to protect me."

Luna stopped. Got up from the backseat and bounced from foot to foot. The space was too cramped to pace, but Daryl could see how her muscles tensed, waiting to burn with use. She poured herself another shot of whisky. She bounced and bounced. Daryl's head spun with the frantic energy she put off.

"I don't wanna sound like your daddy or nothin', but alcohol and concussions are a bad mix."

She downed the liquor and sat with her back to him. After a long silence, she handed him the bottle. He tucked it under the seat, wanting nothing to do with it.

"I heard the shouts coming from inside your house before I saw the chipped paint. They were loud enough to cover my hesitant steps. Loud enough to shake those walls. Crashes and heavy thumps, like someone moving furniture, followed. I edged up under a window and peeked in to catch a glimpse of you. You were shoved against the wall, eye swollen and nose bleeding down your face. Your daddy towered over you and spat out the worst things."

Luna turned in her seat to face Daryl. She reached over the seat to grip his hand in hers. "I'll stop if you don't wanna hear any more."

He grunted. "It wasn't the first time I caught a beatin'."

"I know," she whispered.

The pity in her voice irritated him. All that hunting in the woods to calm down earlier would disappear in a snap if he got pissed now. He had about as much control over his temper as his daddy. "Go on, then. Say what you gotta say."

She held onto his hand, traced his cuticle with her thumb, as if she needed strength to talk about _his_ messed up childhood. "I left the double-brace of rabbits on a nail sticking out of the front door panel. I didn't have any anger left in me. I ran home like the devil or your daddy chased after me.

"I got home, and my daddy was frantic. He'd awoken to find my bed empty. No note. He started hollerin', and it reduced me to tears. It was the first time I'd cried since my mom … since she … . Since it happened. He didn't punish me. Not like yours punished you."

"You said you didn't blame me. Why would you blame me for taking a lickin'?" Daryl felt her hand go rigid. The story wasn't over. He'd been so sure it was over.

Luna inhaled sharply. "I went back later to see if you got my rabbits. Your daddy was sitting on the porch, spitting chaw into the grass. I marched up to him like I could solve everything. He wrenched my arm back and beat the ever lovin' shit outta me for trespassin'. His belt buckle left a gash across my back that needed forty stitches to close up."

She wrapped both hands around Daryl's and held them there. He felt the race of her pulse through the fingertips she pressed into his flesh. Her eyes were wide and misty, but she didn't cry. He thanked her daddy that she didn't cry. He didn't want to break down in front of her, even if she'd seen some of the horrors of his past.

"I limped home like a beaten dog." Luna avoided his eyes again, as if she had anything to be ashamed of. Daryl's daddy had hurt her, and Merle had been a party to Waterfall's death. The shame of his family's legacy pushed him back into the darkness he'd fought so hard to escape.

"Daddy demanded an explanation, so I lied. Told him I'd fallen down a hill trackin' a possum. Told him I hit a rock. He held me while I cried for the second time that day. Cried instead of calling the police and helping you. Cried like a girl without a clue about how the world could be so cruel. So unfair."

Daryl found it hard to breath, all those old memories of a hundred beatings competed behind his closed eyes. And he remembered, all at once, this particular beating. He remembered because he'd found the rabbits on his way out, stuffed them in his knapsack, and left home. Not for the first time, and not for the last time either. He'd waited for Merle to get out of prison, and they'd been escaping their daddy until the day he died.

_I'm grown and _still_ trying to escape him_.

"I wasn't strong enough or brave enough to stop what he did to you," said Luna, letting go of his hand. His skin cooled, and he found himself missing her fierce grip.

Parker stuck his head through the hatch. "Dinner's ready. Bring your appetites. We got a feast thanks to Daryl!" Then he disappeared again.

Daryl wanted to tell Luna that it wasn't her fault, or to reassure her that he deserved her blame. After all, the same blood that pumped through his daddy's veins ran through his. The same dark anger sparked inside him without much provocation. Daryl didn't want to sink into self-pity, so he clenched his jaw. He leaned down and let his fingers trail the glass of the whisky bottle. But he had a choice now. He could be different. Better. He could be what Carol believed he was: a good man.

o . O . o

**A/N: **Lots of talk talk talking in this chapter. Next one will have more action. Maybe. New chapters will be posted on Sundays — mostly.


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